Table For Two
by GhostNox181
Summary: He's a chef. And he's just been given his most challenging customer yet. Can he get her to renounce her hate of his food, and him?


**Another of my Max And Iggy Fluffs. God, I'm such a Miggy lover… I seriously didn't know I could switch ships that fast.**

**This is in third person POV, so pardon me if it sounds weird. I norm do first person.**

Maximum Ride was a picky eater.

No. That was an understatement. That was _the _understatement. For heaven's sake, that was worthy of the 'Understatement of the Year' Award. Max was an extremely picky eater, so picky in fact, she often forgot which foods she _liked_, the list was so short.

Iggy Griffiths was a master chef.

Actually, he was beyond that. He was the youngest chef to ever appear on Iron Chef, and win. He was the youngest person to graduate from culinary school. Ever. He had three biographies, two autobiographies, and four cookbooks published. He had been on The Tonight Show, The Ellen DeGeneres Show, Oprah, in the news multiple times, and on four different cooking shows.

And he was blind.

One morning, while Max was happily drinking her Dunkin Donuts medium iced hazelnut coffee with cream and sugar, and four splenda, and eating her toasted, but really it was only warmed since it didn't even look like it had been put in a toaster, bagel with cream cheese, she saw Iggy on Live with Regis and Kelly, discussing his latest accomplishment, the winning of some Food Network Challenge.

"_So, Iggy, I hear you're coming out with a fifth cookbook. What this one going to have in it?" Kelly asked._

"_This one will just showcase all my award winning desserts and pastries, made easier for the folks at home to do." Iggy said, giving a light and charming smile to the camera._

"_Ah, that's right. You just won another challenge, didn't you?" Regis questioned._

"_Well, yeah. I had to make a cake celebrating the Birds of Prey exhibition's grand opening in under eight hours. It wasn't easy." Iggy said, modesty leaking through his voice._

"_I hope you don't mind me asking, but I know a lot of people are wondering this. How do you do it?" Kelly asked._

"_You mean since I'm blind, right? Don't worry, it's almost like I'm not. My other sense are so developed, I sometimes forget I can't see." Iggy replied, lightly laughing._

_There were a few more questions and then everybody in the audience was given a pastry Iggy had made before the show. _

"_Wow. This is amazing. Your positive you're blind?" Kelly praised him. Iggy grinned in response._

"_Yup. I haven't met someone yet who hasn't liked that. In fact, I haven't met someone who hasn't liked my cooking in general."_

That right about where Max called her TV, or rather the guy on her TV, an arrogant prick, threw her empty Dunkin Donuts cup at the screen, and shut it off, grumbling about how his food could not possibly be that spectacular, and how she was positive she wouldn't like it.

* * *

><p>Max strolled through the doors to her favorite café, Bella Arte, a locally owned place that was a gathering for the local artists, musicians, and college kids to sit and chat or think. It was a very low key place, with indie music playing through the speakers, modernly shaped seats and tables, and pale, neutral tones and artworks. It provided a great place to just sit and people watch, which is what Max did every day after class.<p>

Walking to the counter, Max smiled at her mocha skinned friend.

"The usual?" Nudge asked, already typing it into the register.

"Of course." Max replied, taking a casual glance around the café.

"You really need to expand your palate. In fact, I heard this new restaurant just opened. We should check it out sometime. I even heard that wonderful young chef guy helped with the menu. Have you tried his food? It's excellent!" Nudge gave her friend a glare, before handing her a receipt. Max shook her head at her friend, laughing slightly, paying.

When her untoasted turkey club with no mayo and no bacon, extra pickles, mustard, ketchup, and tomatoes on white was ready, she took her normal seat by the window in the corner of the café, sipping her coke zero with a gaze around the café.

The usuals were here. Mark with his girlfriend Kathy were drinking coffees and sitting on the opposite side of the café, sharing notes for their music class. Jessica from New Jersey who always wore too much perfume was seated near the door, staring longingly out the window as she sipped her strawberry banana smoothie. Laila and Robbie, the twins, were chatting animatedly about something or other, their untouched muffins beside them, and Rebecca, the artist, had her headphones in as she sketched one thing or another.

There were, of course, other people in the café, but they were not the regular customers, and therefore Max took less care in what they looked like or where they were seated, and more care in what they were doing. One guy appeared late in doing homework, rushing to finish it. Another had empty sheet music, obviously struggling however. One girl was anxiously checking her watch, getting more and more frustrated by the minute.

Bella Arte never had a line, but it was never slow either. The flow of customers was always constant and steady, and the service and food was excellent. It was Max's favorite place to be, and the only place where she could get decent food that suited her picky needs.

Because of her people watching habits, and because Max knew the regulars by heart, she knew that the person who had just walked through the door had never been here before. Even those that had only come in once she remembered. He was new.

She took a moment to study him, intrigued for a moment by his air of confidence and sense of self. He wore light wash jeans and a light blue plaid button down, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He had a slightly darker blue baseball cap for some team she didn't know covering what she could tell was strawberry blond hair. When he took a glance around the café, she noticed he was wearing particularly dark sunglasses, and seemed a bit familiar, although she couldn't recall why. He walked into the café as if he owned the place, but it wasn't overbearing, and in fact a little refreshing.

She heard Nudge cough and looked up only to see Nudge smile knowingly at her. Max stuck her tongue out childishly; mouthing _it's not what you think._ Nudge rolled her eyes, proceeding to take mysterious guy's order. Max watched as Nudge said a few things and the guy laughed, before turning to look her way. Though she couldn't see his eyes through the glasses, she knew he was looking at her. She quickly glanced back down at her sandwich, when she heard someone stop at her table. Looking up suddenly, she found herself facing the mysterious guy.

"Uh. Hi." She said stupidly.

"Hey, is this seat taken?" He asked, sitting down anyway. "What'cha eating?"

"Uh a turkey club?" She responded, although it came out as more of a question then a statement.

"Wow, so boring."

Max was startled by this sudden bluntness. Nobody insulted _her_ sandwich. "Excuse me, who are you again?"

The guy sitting across from her grinned as if he had been waiting for her to ask the entire time. "Iggy. Iggy Griffiths. Surely you've heard of me."

Angry now, Max huffed. "Oh. You're that blind chef guy that everyone's talking about. What makes you so special?"

For the first time since he had sat down, Iggy removed his glasses, revealing beautiful light blue eyes. Max had a hard time believing the eyes that were very much meeting her own, were sightless.

"Well, pretty much everything I do. Except, however, get you to like me. So, Max, what's it going to take?" Iggy asked, and though Max was a tad creeped out that his eyes so knowingly knew where she was, she was still awed by their precision. She was still, however, convinced that he was a pompous prick, and their conversation was certainly not helping.

"How do you know my name?" Max asked, then it dawned on her. "Nudge…" She growled.

Iggy laughed. "Your friend's quite the talker. She knew who I was right away, too. Apparently she likes my food. Which I can't say is the same for you. I'm intrigued, Max. Do you just not like me or do you really not like my food?" He asked.

Max was kind of astounded. This guy was truly dedicated to making everyone adore his cooking. Max wasn't sure if that was inspiring, or irritating. "A little bit of both. My tastes are… delicate."

Iggy sat back in his seat, raising an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"

"Well to start, I dislike peanut butter, frosting, cake, chocolate, mayo, bacon, Pepsi, diet sodas, whole milk, decaf coffee, actually most sweet things, spicy things, fish, fish sticks, pork, and that's not even half of it. I won't eat anything burnt, and I don't eat big meals. I can't drink water, and I will only drink Snapple iced tea, and only diet ones. I don't like sauce with chunks of anything in them, and I hate pizza with sauce. I overuse ketchup and mustard and I only use Ken's Steakhouse Italian Dressing. I only like chocolate chip cookies, if I'm craving them, and only red grapes with no seeds. And-" But that was all she had time to say before Iggy had reached across the table to put a hand over her mouth with precision she could not understand.

"I think I get it." He whispered, taking his hand off of her mouth.

Max made a show of spitting and rubbing her mouth with disgust to get his hand 'filth' off, though he couldn't see much of it. He still laughed at her though, which only made her seethe more.

"Well, Max. I think I can get you to like my food." Iggy proposed.

"I doubt it. Weren't you listening to my list? I have delicate tastes." She complained.

"Those aren't delicate tastes. I think you prefer not to eat those. I think you do actually like them." Iggy said, suddenly serious for the first time this entire conversation.

"Why?" She asked quietly after a moment. Iggy was surprised. He had fun wiring her up, then all of sudden she was so quiet. It was a nice change, but a shocking one.

"Why what?"

"Why do you want me to like your food?" She asked, which to her own ears sounded really stupid.

"It's my life goal to make food everyone will like. You're sorta holding me back. Plus, I've never met anyone like you before, with such… uh… delicate tastes." Iggy said, and Max wasn't quite sure if he was mocking her or not.

"Well, I'm not interested." And up went the front.

"Come on, just one meal. Just have dinner with me once. I'll cook everything. You can even tell me what you prefer to eat. Then afterwards, you can tell me if you still hate my food, and myself, and we'll go from there, my hopes destroyed and your odd taste buds intact." Iggy pleaded, though there was a hint of annoyance laced throughout his voice.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"It's just one meal."

"I don't want some blind guy making me dinner."

"That hurts."

"I'm sure it does."

"One meal, one chance. That's all I ask."

"If I say yes, will you stop pestering me? Even if I hate your food?" Max asked. Iggy's face brightened dramatically.

"I promise on my whole career, which as you can see I live on, figuratively and literally."

Max sighed. One meal couldn't hurt. Even if he was an arrogant prick.

* * *

><p>Max stood outside Iggy's penthouse apartment, staring at the door. Did she really want to do this? Was she too dressed up? It wasn't like he could see her anyway. Nudge had <em>insisted<em> that it didn't matter, that she should still dress her best. Max hated dressing up. Yet here she stood, in front of some celebrity, in a casual black skirt that fell just at her knees, and a light blue off the shoulder shirt. She had snuck sneakers on at the last minute, and got away before Nudge attacked her with makeup, so she at least remained herself to some degree.

"I can't believe I'm about to let a blind guy make me dinner." She muttered to herself.

"Yeah, I'm pretty unbelievable." A voice said, and Max's eyes darted up. She hadn't even heard the door open. "How long did you plan on standing out here?"

"Long enough to cause this night not to happen." Max grumbled, though she secretly admitted to herself that she was kind of excited.

"Well, you've been caught. So don't just stand there, come in!" Iggy exclaimed, stepping aside to let Max enter the penthouse apart.

As soon as she stepped in, the first thing she noticed was the vast majority of white. In fact, nearly everything was white. The walls, the furniture, even the decorations. There were plants and some art work here and there that weren't white, but even the plants had white flowers. The only non-white thing that seemed to dominate was the hard wood floors.

"Do you like white or something?" She asked as she slipped off her sneakers and took a few more steps into the living room, her feet sliding on the hard wood floors.

"Nah. But I can see the shapes and silhouettes of things when they're against white backgrounds. So I like my entire apartment to be white. It makes things easier, and makes me feel like I can see." Iggy replied, shrugging, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. To Max, however, it seemed like something almost secret, something he would normally have revealed to a close friend, or at least someone he had known longer than three days.

"Oh." Nice, Max. Real smooth.

"So. You requested chicken noodle soup. Not the most interesting of things I've made, I admit, but I hope you don't mind if I 'spiced' things up. Pun completely intended. There's going to be a salad first as well, and yes, I made sure not to include purple lettuce per request, though your reasoning is still stupid. And for dessert, I made chocolate chip cookies, since that seemed to be the only thing you actually approved of. Shall we eat?" Iggy said, eyebrow raised as he stared, with stunning accuracy, though she wasn't sure if it was just him, or because of her white surroundings, at Max as she studied his apartment. Could he see her? Could he at least see her silhouette, her height, what she was wearing, the length of her hair? Would he like it, or would it not even matter?

Max shook her head of the thoughts that were filling her head. She was just here to prove a point, then they would go their separate ways, most likely to never meet again. She didn't need to worry about whether he knew what her basic features were or not.

"Uh, sure. Let's get this over with." Max stuttered, following Iggy to the kitchen where an island was set with two barstools. She was slightly relieved that he hadn't tried to make this more date-like, like she knew other guys would have. Her nerves eased a bit, though she once again questioned why she was nervous.

Iggy guided her took a seat, pulling it out, to which she rolled her eyes though she knew he couldn't tell. Then he walked around the island to get two plates of salad, which she saw were very full and very interestingly done. It was a light looking salad, with simple greens and classic tomatoes and cucumbers, but there were all sorts of cheeses and carrots and things she had no names for, and she knew there was a sauce on it, perhaps a dressing he made himself, that was most certainly _not_ Ken's Steakhouse Italian Dressing. Max gave it the eyeball, before looking back up at Iggy doubtfully.

Iggy sat down across from her and, even though Max could not figure out how, knew she was staring at the salad as if it had grown a head and was trying to eat her instead.

"Max, seriously. One, you promised to at least try it. Two, I promised to not poison you. Three, if you really hate it, I'll order pizza." Iggy assured her, and, very hesitantly, Max picked up her fork and took a very, very small bite.

"Bigger bite, Max."

"How the hell can you tell what size bite I took?"

"I'm just brilliant like that."

Huffing, Max took a bigger bite. She chewed thoughtfully, taking time to really taste her forkful. It was an odd bunch of flavors, really crispy and fresh, but the dressing was tangy and made everything almost savory and sweet at the same time. Before she knew it, she had taken another bite, and another, and then three more, and then when she went to have another, her plate was empty.

Iggy, who had finished a few bites before her, was watching her, for lack of better word, with a slight smirk. "So Max. What do you think? I don't hear any complaining, so it can't be that bad."

Retaining some of her dignity, Max turned her contented smile into a nonchalant frown and shrugged. "It was okay. I mean, not really my style."

Iggy smiled knowingly, but cleared her plate without a word. Placing a bowl in front of her he stated, "Okay, well then, attempt number two. Here's your soup, as requested."

Max stared into the bowl. The noodles were thin and looked flimsy, there were more vegetables than she could count, and the chicken looked very nicely seasoned. Not waiting for Iggy's prompting this time, she took a small spoonful, and was delighted to find the broth rich with flavor and a hint of lemon, the chicken not too cooked and not overly seasoned, and the noodles slurpable like spaghetti. The vegetables were even cooked perfectly, not too soggy, but at that perfect sogginess one wants in a soup. Her soup was soon gone too.

Iggy was grinning at her now. "What'd you think, Max?"

"Well, not as good as my grandma's, but it wasn't _terrible."_ She said, trying to keep her part going. She was _not_ going to lose. This was a thing of pride.

"Right. Well, that just leaves my chocolate chip cookies. If I strike out here, that's three strikes, and you'll win, and all my hopes and dreams will be crushed." Iggy feigned a depressed voice, but Max didn't buy it. She wasn't going to give in just to let him have his ego boosted. Besides, nobody could beat her mother's cookies. Even if he had an 'okay' salad and a 'not terrible' soup, she most certainly wouldn't be lying if she said his cookies weren't great. Her mothers were the best. End of story.

A beautiful smell hit her nose, and her mouth immediately began to water. That was most definitely the scent of a chocolate chip cookie. She tried to tear her eyes away as Iggy set the plate of cookies down on the island, but she couldn't. They were perfectly golden, the chocolate chips were melty on the top, and she knew if she were to pick on up, it would be soft and gooey. Sure enough, when she reached over and took the very top one, the cookie squished just a little bit in her hand, and the chocolate left a little mark on her fingers. When she bit into it, there was just enough resistance between the cookie and her teeth to make it a cookie, but still enough melty-goodness to make it omg-tastic. Max felt her mom's cookies slipping from her mind.

Her head hit the island counter with a thud.

"You win."

"What was that? I can't hear you speaking into the counter."

Max lifted her head and glared at the blind guy, who was not helping his arrogant ego much. "I said you win."

"Okay, but say it one more time. I have a feeling you don't say this often."

Angry now, since her pride had pretty much been destroyed, Max jumped up. "Fine! You win! You're right! I'm not picky, I just hate most foods because I like being boring. I don't like experimenting with food. I like my tastes because they're simple. But no, you had to go and change my favorite foods into world-class masterpieces, and though I tried, and I really tried, I really like them, and I don't want to. And, my god, it was easy to hate the salad, it was near effortless to dislike the soup, but you've just created the most amazing cookies I have ever eaten. And you're still an arrogant jerk about it! So maybe I like your food, but I still hate you!"

With an outraged huff, Max turned on her heel and began heading to the door. Iggy sat shocked for a moment, before jumping up and racing after her, so intent on keeping her from leaving; he tripped twice in his own apartment, forgetting where he had placed things. She was different. She was intelligent, and she didn't constantly worry about his blindness. She tried hard to stick to herself, and she had a true sense of who she was. She knew what she liked, and she knew what she wanted, and she wasn't ashamed of it. But she was so easy to talk to, so easy to joke with and make jokes at, and so easy to just be with. She didn't fawn over him; she didn't demand anything from him. He could just be himself with her.

Yeah, it had only been three days, but Romeo and Juliet knew each other less. He at least needed her to stay long enough so he could make so she didn't leave here angry.

"Max wait!"

"Why should I?" Max asked angrily as she slipped on a sneaker.

"Because… because I have one more thing to ask of you!" Iggy said in a rush, since he really hadn't planned this far ahead. In his perfect night, she agreed to liking him and his food, and that was that. But she was so unpredictable. Which only made him more intrigued.

"What?" She demanded.

"Can I… I mean… Well, when you're blind, you can't really see what people look like, so when someone lets you, the easiest way is to… um… I guess the best way to say it is… feel their face? I mean, if you don't feel comfortable with that I understand, but I just want to know what you look like, and though with the white background I can see your silhouette, I can't see you, so I thought maybe…" Iggy trailed off, realizing he was babbling and that she probably though he sounded like an idiot.

"Are your hands clean?" A small voice asked, and Iggy was honestly surprised. He had half expected her to have run out of the apartment in disgusted fear or something.

"Seriously? I live in an all white apartment, and its spic and span clean. I think I can keep my hands clean too." Iggy retorted, falling back on old Iggy ways.

There was an awkward moment when neither really moved, not really knowing what to do. Then Max gently took Iggy's hand and guided it to her cheek, closing her eyes. His other hand came up to her other cheek and his fingers began roaming her skin. She admitted to herself, that it felt a little comforting, strange, but comforting, having Iggy's fingers gliding over her face and gently feeling her features. His fingers were soft, his movements almost like caresses, and she found herself leaning into the movements.

"Wow Max. You're beautiful." Iggy breathed and he felt Max's skin blush under his fingertips.

"A few light touches and some nice words won't make me like you." She said, though Iggy definitely caught the playful tone in her voice.

Smiling, more to himself than her, he dropped one hand to her waist. The hand still on her cheek gently traced her bottom lip, and before Max could come up with any witty or sarcastic things to say, Iggy's lip had met hers. Max was stunned for a moment, not quite sure that what was happening was really happening, and then her brain clicked off and her heart clicked on, causing her arms to come up around his neck and her eyes to flutter shut as she responded to the kiss.

The kiss was, in a way, much like Iggy's cooking. It was soft and sweet, but there was something fun and spicy about it at the same time. Maybe it was the fact they had both just eaten chocolate chip cookies. Maybe it was the fact, Iggy was trying to prove a point to someone he just realized he desperately wanted to win over. Maybe it was the fact Max had realized it was okay to let others be in charge every now and then. Or maybe it was the fact two people were interested in each other, and this kiss was sealing the deal.

When they broke apart, Iggy smiled that I-Win smile at Max. "So do you like me now Max?" He whispered.

Max was quiet for a moment, as if thinking it over. Standing on her tiptoes to kiss him again, she smiled against his lips. When she pulled back she said thoughtfully "Only if you make me chocolate chip cookies all the time."

"Deal."

**Me: Whee! This could've been it's own story, but I didn't feel like separating it into parts. Sarsy. Anyways, hope ya liked!**

**Rebbie: Omg go to bed, its four in the morning.**

**Me: Miggy is more important than bed.**

**Rebbie: Did you…really…**


End file.
